Tell me the truth so I can find my story in your words.

I’m not sharing this story because I expect people to care about how all of this affects me. I’m sharing because it’s comforting knowing you’re not alone. Maybe some of you will see your story here.If not, I hope you at least find insight into something that happens all of the time, but few talk about.

Josh and I had been discussing kids for awhile.

I’m not exactly a big “baby” kind of person. Do I want to hold your baby? I mean, sure, if you need me to. Do I think your baby’s cute? I’m totally going to say yes (and I will for sure mean it if you’re this baby in particular). So suffice it to say, all this talk of expanding our humans from two to three came with loads of feelings.

And yet…

When I take a step back and don’t think about the details (growing an actual human in my body and having to somehow get it out (!), the lack of sleep, the questions about what being a mom means for my life and career), it’s a totally different narrative. I’ve always believed at some point, I’d be a parent. I never think about my future and not see kids in it. They’re there.

So, in August, the two of us decided to go for this baby thing. Who knows, it might take a loooong time. Might as well find out now!

18 days later, there it was. Two M-F-ing blue lines.

Alright.

Well.

Um.

Hmmmmm.

Here’s where you’re supposed to say congrats, right?

Truthfully, I wasnot ready to hear it. I knew I was supposed to be excited, but my main feeling was overwhelmed (60 percent), followed by fear (30 percent) with a 10 percent excitement chaser. Who do I call? What do I do? THIS IS AN EMERGENCY… right? And let’s not forget all these questions: What was I going to do about work? What kind of cheese am I not supposed to eat? Where is this kid going to sleep?!

Oh god, no more wine!

A few hours later, Josh got home. I told him and right off the bat, he was way more excited than me, which I appreciated.

I spent the next few days processing what this all meant. I bought some quality pre-natal vitamins. I cooked meats much longer than normal. I bought a ton of expensive non-alcoholic beverages. I even started drinking de-caff.

Okay, half-caff.

All these changes were pretty easy. The hard part came when I thought about my community. What happened when I had to tell my friend who spent years trying to get pregnant? Or the friend who gave their baby up for adoption years ago, and now kind of regrets it? Or the friend who can’t get pregnant?

The feeling I wasn’t expecting?

Shame.

We’d barely even tried and boom. Baby city. Did I even deserve to be pregnant?! Here I was, one of those women who it just happened to. The ones couples struggling with fertility say they’re excited for… but secretly want to murder just a little bit.

The worst part? I was only 11 percent excited (four days after I found out, I saw a cute baby at Costco (not for sale), which catapulted my excitement one full point). In the context of friends having trouble conceiving, that made me feel awful. The good news for me? I personally didn’t feel pressure to be excited right away. It’s totally normal to be scared and overwhelmed! If that cute baby at Costco taught me anything, it’s that I would get more excited, bit by bit.

In the week and a half following “the news,” my brain swirled with questions. I felt like crud. The next weekend, I no-showed to a friend’s birthday party. I knew there’d be two friends there who are heartbroken they’re not pregnant yet. And even though I wasn’t planning on saying anything about my you-know-what, what if they figured it out? I didn’t want a be a source of pain on what’s supposed to be a fun night.

The next morning, I woke up with terrible cramps. I went to Dr. Google and tried to convince myself it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

After talking to a really kind nurse on the phone, Josh and I made the executive decision to go to the ER.

I explained to the intake nurse that I was seven weeks pregnant, but suspected I was having a miscarriage. Honey, it might still be okay, she said. Don’t go to that bad place quite yet. In my gut, I knew what I knew. That morning, as I cried my face off in our bathroom, I realized I was probably more than 11 percent excited. Sometimes feeling overwhelmed, excitement and fear kind of blend into one giant blobby emotion.

I was poked with needles, offered Vicodin (a-thankyou) and eventually had my first pregnancy ultrasound. Except where you’d expect to see a little flickering heartbeat, there was just nothing.

On the way home from the hospital, I talked to a friend who’s a physician’s assistant. She told me this is common, that there’s probably nothing wrong with me and this baby likely wasn’t viable from a chromosomal standpoint. All of this gave me peace of mind. I felt completely rational. I walked away feeling surprisingly, well, fine.

But over the next few weeks, I came to realize I wasn’t exactly fine.

I didn’t expect to feel so physically and emotionally drained.

I didn’t expect the physical pain.

I didn’t expect to feel so isolated.

I didn’t expect to cry at every commercial (oh, Flo! I love you and am switching to Progressive!).

I didn’t expect the transition back to normal life– aka the life I’d been living for 33 years– would be so challenging. I was only seven weeks pregnant, and yet, my body and brain already felt significantly different.

I didn’t know what to expect because nobody talks about it!

Except that people do talk about it. In hushed tones, over a glass of wine or walk around the neighborhood, or tucked away in the back corner of a party. I’ve had more conversations about women’s health in the last month than I’ve had in the last three decades combined. Sometimes we keep struggles to ourselves because it’s too painful, or because we don’t want everyone knowing our business. However, often times, I think it comes down to this simple fact:

It’s taboo.

Like over-sharing the details of your irritable bowel syndrome at Thanksgiving, or revealing how much money you made last year, pregnancy loss isn’t something we’re supposed to talk about. But consider this: 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.

So I am talking about it.

Or writing about it. Whatever.

A miscarriage is a lot to deal with.

I expected the negative effects of miscarriage were reserved for people who lost their pregnancies later, or were more than 11 percent excited, or those who’d been trying for a long time.

Not so.

My miscarriage happened early and was so straightforward. I didn’t need a “procedure.” I’d never seen the heartbeat. I also believe in the rational part of my brain that my miscarriage was probably in the best interest of me and the baby. And yet, it still was so hard.

Overwhelmed? Sad? Confused? Frustrated? Yes, I am all of those things.

Miscarriage is a unique process for every person, and for every pregnancy. If this were to happen to me again, I am sure my feeling and emotions would be totally different. But no matter the circumstance, don’t expect yourself to magically bounce back. Give yourself some time to grieve, deal and heal. Be nice to yourself. Sleep. Eat good food. Get a massage. Take care of yourself. It’s a lot to deal with.

Creating a family is tough work.

Someone struggling with infertility might want to dropkick every baby announcement on Facebook. Those who experienced an easy, healthy pregnancy might feel shameful sharing their excitement. And maybe you don’t want kids at all, are getting kind of annoyed at all this boring pregnancy talk and wish I’d just post some cute pics of puppies (done!).

You can’t always help how you feel. But just remember, we hardly ever know the full story. So let’s support each other– be happy for those who are in an exciting time, and lend an ear to those who are, as my dad would say, in a glass bottom boat on a sea of shit. It’s not your job to solve their problems, just listen or do something kind for them.

If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.

Sharing is a part of my process, but it doesn’t need to be part of yours. If you’re struggling, find a trusted friend, doctor or professional who specializes in women’s health and pregnancy loss. You don’t have to go through this alone. Pregnancy, loss, infertility and all the emotional and physical crap that comes with it is heavy. You can’t just think your way out of it.

Trust me, I tried. 🙂

* * *

Some excellente resources:

Most pregnancy resources fit into one of two camps: Aimed at scaring the shit out of you, or super-flowery. I greatly dislike both approaches and that’s why I love Pregnant Chicken. Finally, someone talking about this stuff with honesty AND a sense of humor.

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Comments (75)

I had a similar experience a few years ago and still don’t really talk about it. We hadn’t been trying to get pregnant, but we messed up the birth control. I bled for several weeks before I finally thought to take a pregnancy test (also seeing someone’s very early baby bump made me wonder if my body looked different to me). It was positive, the doctor said it was likely a very early miscarriage, and the bleeding finally stopped after a month or more.

It took a long time to forgive myself. It’s weird because I’m pro-abortion and would’ve opted for that if the pregnancy had stuck. I felt guilty about an accident. And sad at the loss of a potential baby.

I’m so sorry you (and so many families) had to go through this. On behalf of everyone who has struggled with infertility, please try to let go of that guilt. No one wants to wish hardship onto anyone else. All my love.

I so appreciate that. I am embarrassed to say that after this incident, a teeny tiny part of me was like, "well now when I do get pregnant, at least I had to work for it a little." That is so unbelievably messed up, and it’s partially why I think it’s important to talk about these issues. We all need to be mindful about how & what we say about pregnancy (cause it’s all LOADED), but in the end, it’s truly about bringing awesome little people into this world– something worth celebrating no matter how you get there!

Wow, thanks for sharing your story, Molly. I am so sorry that you and Josh had to go through this, as it is certainly a nightmare for anyone at anytime in the process of starting a family, excitedly or not. It certainly has been mine these past few months and I still feel like I am holding my breath. I really admire your courage to talk about your experience and contribute to the movement of people refusing to let this be such a taboo. So many women and families experience miscarriage and it is a great pity that they should feel alone in it. Wishing you peace as you continue to process, grieve, and share.

Thank you so much for sharing. I have had two miscarriages and you are so isolated when it happens and even years later. Coming back to work after it happened was the worst, no one knew what I was going through. I could have written your blog, you shared many feelings that I have gone through, thank you so much for sharing.

I don’t work in a traditional office setting, but yes x 100000 to the weirdness of returning to "normal life." I almost had a full-on collapse and cry at the gym because someone said something totally innocent, but it hit me heart and brain in a really ouchie way. I keep thinking WHY is it okay to tell your coworkers that you have the flu or a cold, but when shit really hits the fan, you’re supposed to just deal all on your own? It’s brutal, and I hope that changes.

This does suck and I’m sorry for your loss. I also had a miscarriage when we had been trying for a couple of years to conceive our 2nd. It was terrible…..and then I chose to believe that this tiny soul HAD chosen us to be his parents and that the first time it just wasn’t quite right. The next month I was pregnant again with a happy and healthy baby boy because he was meant to be in our lives. He had chosen us and he wasn’t giving up. This baby is meant to be yours too…..because he/she has already chosen you to be his mama. Best wishes!

I’m so sorry, Molly, and am happy you are writing about this. I was 12 weeks along with our first baby when I miscarried. I was feeling a lot of the same ambivalence before the miscarriage, in spite of having planned the pregnancy. However, in talking with others afterwards, I learned a couple of things… 1) This happens more often than we realize, and there are a lot of really wonderful people out there for whom this has happened, who have a lot of insight and help to offer (and we’re already seeing this in the comments on your post). 2) It did suck. But, then came Dani, and I was much more prepared for her, and not so ambivalent about her, which was good….

I’m so amazed at everyone’s willingness to share here, including yours. Thank you! I think it’s also important to share that it’s okay to feel conflicted about your pregnancy, even if it’s planned. Your initial feelings have nothing to do with how great a parent you’ll be. And you’re a good one 🙂

I don’t think I’m going to articulate this well but I’ll try……My friend told me she was pregnant the moment she saw the blue lines cos her reasoning (after having lost a couple already) was "I’m gonna need you big time if this one doesn’t stay". Fortunately for her, this time round it did and now she has a daughter 🙂I guess what I’m trying to say, is don’t wait til 12 weeks to tell anyone (who decided that 12 weeks is the "safe" time to start telling people anyhoo?!). Tell your closest friends ASAP. You need someone outside your partner to share whatever happens with (of course, if you’re comfortable with that and all. Eeesh. Does am I even making sense? Okay, I’m gonna leave it at that.)

I’m so sorry this happened to you. Thanks for your honesty, and for talking about how it’s ok not to be 100% crazy excited when you get that positive test. The whole process is fraught and scary and big, and however you feel is the right way to feel.

About 8-9 years ago, I was very close to a tragic postpartum depression situation. If there’s anything that experience taught me, it’s that you DO NOT have to be excited about all things baby. It’s an exciting time, but the expectation that everyone is automatically over the moon is false and can be incredibly damaging. If you’re not immediately thrilled, you’re still doing it right. It’s complicated 🙂

I’m on my second miscarriage in 6 months, and had a pretty similar experience to you my first time. God knows I was terrified when I got that positive test, even though I had knowingly done it to myself! Thanks for writing about this, because I know it’s hard af to do. When you’re open about it you’re vulnerable to be asked about it at any time, and I admire that you’re out there.

Here’s a really awesome project that’s been fundraising and filming all over (including MN) and is doing exactly what you are: speaking out about miscarriage and amplifying stories.

Molly, thanks for sharing this story. I had almost the same experience as you did…I was 10 weeks pregnant at the time and was having some troubles that lead to an ultrasound that ended like yours. It’s a very hard thing to go through and that is why I am all for sharing the news good and bad (at least with your close friends and family). The whole idea of waiting 12 weeks before telling anyone you’re pregnant never made sense to me either, because you still need your support system if things don’t go as planned. Don’t give up hope…I had two beautiful babies after my miscarriage and it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me! I think you and Josh will make great parents!!

I totally agree, Caran! I say your close friends and family have to know the situation, as long as everyone can keep the information contained to your inner circle. These are the people who will love and support you in the good times and bad.

I’m sad for your loss, but selfishly happy that things turned out as they did– I’d be lost without Margie! 🙂

Miscarriage, that must not be spoken of. Well, not speaking about it almost drove my husband and I apart. I was sad and mad. Mad at my mother for saying, "These things happen for a reason." Wanted to choke her. Now years later, I understand she just didn’t know what to say. I learned what not to say to those who miscarry from that interaction. I give a hug, if they are hug people, and tell them there is nothing I can say. I was mad at my body for failing to do its job. Mad at God for being such a shit. Mad at the USAF for two weeks after miscarrying moving us to the other side of the world. Mad at myself for being active duty at the time and going through those drills. I was just pissed at the world.

Flash forward 18 years, I am no longer mad. We used that pain and sorrow to grow as a couple. Well, after I started to cry my heart out on a treadmill we grew as a couple. It took me having a minor breakdown at the base gym. Talk about freaking out a bunch of big military guys, when the lady on the treadmill is crying her eyes out. Makes me laugh now. Those poor guys, my husband included, didn’t have a clue.

Miscarrying happens. But with time, I have learned that it doesn’t have to take away your joy.

I have not experienced loss, but I am so appreciative of your honesty (hello, I talk about how much money I make because I’m sick of it being taboo) and sending my compassion and love your way. It changes everything–just talking about kids changes everything. The word thrilling is apt–terrifying and exhilarating and exciting all at once. Also, I have been in the boat with the situation of being pregnant twice in the time that some friends still haven’t conceived. I’ve carried a baby to term that three other friends didn’t in the same time frame. It’s hard. But by talking about it all and being as honest and kind as we can, we’ll all get through. Love to you as you grieve, and wishing you an ending you are hoping for–whatever that is, whether it’s still kids or not–and wishing you 111 percent excitement for whatever may come.

I’m so glad you’ve so beautifully shared your story. Thank you. This whole kid having thing is an emotional minefield. I’m constantly dealing with 40 different kinds of guilt and one is that I hope I didn’t say anything stupid to you in the last couple of months. You are so right that these stories need to be shared and it should not be taboo. You go, Molly! Making the world a better place in all kinds of unexpected ways XO

What you described sounded very familiar, and was my journey a month ago. What resonated was the surprise of the grieving that takes place even early on and what your gut knows. My heart hoped for one outcome, but my gut knew something different. Thank you for taking this experience out of the shadows.

I’m so sorry you are going through all that. I haven’t experienced a miscarriage, but someone close to me just had her second. I wish I could just scoop her up and squeeze her and make it all better, but I know it doesn’t work that way. Thank you for sharing your story and ways to be supportive of someone who is dealing with a loss.

It’s hard to know what to do. And as someone who just went through it, I don’t even know what would’ve made me feel better. A friend gave me flowers, another gave me candy and a card. I say when all else fails, some combo of food-wine-flowers-candle-netflix.

Thank you for sharing. Your story sounds similar to mine. Ambivalent about having a baby, decided to go for it, happened right away, miscarriage at 13 weeks, a few days after I told everyone in my life I was pregnant. I felt like a failure, like I hadn’t wanted it enough. My mom was not supportive. Nobody seemed to get it. The bleeding and clotted chunks lasted for three weeks! I had to go to my friend’s baby shower a few weeks later and I just lost it, sobbing in the bathroom. The good news is that my grief made me realize this was something I did want and when I was ready to try again, it worked. Today I have a beautiful 5 year old (today is her birthday.)

I am glad that people are being more authentic about their experiences. Infant loss and infertility are so painful. Having watched many dear friends walk down this road I at time have felt helpless as to how to help and comfort them.

Thanks for sharing your story, and I’m so, so sorry.

One thing I do wish we’d mention when talking about infant loss awareness are people like me: women who desperately want to be moms, but haven’t found suitable partners. It’s a different kind of pain for certain, and I don’t like to compare pain or do that dumb game of "who has it worse." I just think people make the assumption that if you’re single you’re not heartbroken over not having a family, which isn’t true at all.

And Katie– I totally feel for you & other women like you (I guess men, too!). That’s also a very complicated situation, and unsettling because you’re juggling so many pressures with so many unknowns. Hang in there. xoxo

I know that’s an option, but it’s not one I’m wiling to take (with absolutely no judgment towards your mom). I’m more on the conservative, religious end of the spectrum, and firmly believe that my future (God willing) kids should be born to a mom and a dad who are married. Just my two cents. Not for everyone else, but also not something I’m willing to give up.

Honestly, what I’d love to see in our culture is a shift in men’s perspective that respects that women have a real timeline when it comes to childbearing.

I know that’s an option, but it’s not one I’m wiling to take (with absolutely no judgment towards your mom). I’m more on the conservative, religious end of the spectrum, and firmly believe that my future (God willing) kids should be born to a mom and a dad who are married. Just my two cents. Not for everyone else, but also not something I’m willing to give up.

Honestly, what I’d love to see in our culture is a shift in men’s perspective that respects that women have a real timeline when it comes to childbearing.

Molly, thank so very much for having the courage to bring this excruciating, taboo topic out of the dark. Yes, miscarriage happens to a LOT of women. And most of us suffer alone. WHY? You just changed that for all who will go after us. THANK YOU!

Like you, it happened to me before the 12-week mark (I was only 9 weeks along). So it was still a secret … until my miscarriage started IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSINESS MEETING WITH 25 OTHER PEOPLE! I jumped up and ran out, and as you can imagine, there was no hiding that something was seriously wrong. I did what most women do that early on … pretend it’s not big deal. I told myself "It’s normal. It’s just my body getting ready to do it right next time." My heart said something entirely different: I had just lost a little person. I had just lost a little piece of me and my hopes and dreams. My husband had, too. So did you and Josh.

I am so sorry for you and Josh losing that little person. Your grief is real. Your body’s pain is REAL (and such a shock, isn’t it? I could not BELIEVE how much it hurt!).

My thoughts and prayers and hugs are with you while you move through this. It is really wonderful to hear all the other women’s stories and messages of support for you. And for all women.

CBB! I can’t believe that happened to you in a meeting! When it happened to me, one of the first things I thought of was "OMG I am so happy I am at home right now, and not at the Mall of America like I was yesterday morning!" As if it could even get more depressing.

Thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement & for sharing your story. The whole experience was incredibly shocking. Like IS THIS SERIOUSLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW? I felt like I was in a fog for a full month before it even occurred to me that I was totally depressed about it.

I am so happy other women are sharing their stories. It’s been extremely cathartic. Way more than I expected!

Thanks for writing about this, Molly… wish I could have given you a hug when we were talking about all of this a couple of weeks ago! As someone who comes from a family that experiences this too, I truly believe the more it’s talked about, the better. So thanks!

Thanks, Kelly. It’s kind of one of those topics that you only bring up if it feels like the right mood– talking about shmishcarriages is normally buzzkill city! I do think it’s important to talk about, especially since we all have tons of questions about what really happens & how to deal. 🙂

Today was a good day to catch up on your blog. Thank you for your post. After 3 years of infertility and failed infertility treatments, we recently got great news that all of this heartbreak would go away and I was pregnant. I went in for my first ultrasound today and things weren’t looking very promising. I go back next week for confirmation. This is my first go at pregnancy too and I feel like all this joy that I’ve experienced in the last couple of weeks is getting thrown in a garbage can and I’m getting punched in the face. I know your journey wasn’t the same to get here, and I enjoyed your comments about the infertility stuff (totally on point and totally me a year ago) but we still have to power through the same terrible stuff we hoped would never happen. Here’s to hoping for a brighter future and cheers to having great husbands through all of this. Thank you again for being so forthcoming and providing good sources for the rest of us.

Your honesty, strength and willingness to share difficult personal experiences is a wonderful demonstration of your character and a true contribution to the world around you. I couldn’t be more proud that you are my daughter! I love you very much!

So sorry you had to go through that. I’m ambivalent about having kids, and I think I would react about the same as you did if I found out I was pregnant. But who knows! My mother and my youngest sister have both has miscarriages. I remember when my sister had told me she was pregnant with her second child, and we were all excited and told everyone…and then it was hard for some reason to know what to say about it, even though "She had a miscarriage" should be enough. It is a really hard topic to discuss. Thank you for writing about your experience. HUGS

Oh em gee. I just wrote this cathartic tell-all-the-things post about our miscarriage that happened 12 years ago. 12!!??!! I still remember it more vividly than I remember what I just ate five minutes ago. We were in the exact same shoes as you, not really planning and BOOM. And then another BOOM. I cried for weeks and avoided all the pregnant people and holed up in our apartment and played video games (I’ve never done that before or since). It’s this big giant thing that feels taboo but once you put it out there, it makes everyone explode with relief and need to tell their stories or to not tell their stories. Sending a big hug your way and the NEED to tell you that the things most people say are total crap but well-meaning. It’s just blasted time. And a trip to Italy.

Fertility struggles and miscarriages are so tough to talk about, but the support from other people is totally invaluable. One of my closest friends had a miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy in the span of 18 months. During that time I was "unofficially" trying (aka, not using any birth control) and nothing happened. I was terrified. I told everyone that asked for years that I just wasn’t ready, when in reality it just wasn’t happening. I decided to try clomid, and during that time my best friend (who incidentally, is the sister of my friend mentioned before) got pregnant quickly and was afraid to tell me. When she finally told me, I was surprised because she was already well into her second trimester. I was visiting her not long after–just after I had a few failed rounds of clomid–we were shopping, and I said something about how I didn’t know if it would happen for me (and my husband) but that it was just going to have to be okay. I wanted her, and myself, to believe that I’d be okay no matter what. She felt so guilty, which wasn’t my intent. I felt guilty that she felt guilty. Ultimately, I became pregnant a few months later, using clomid (and so did her sister!). I didn’t open up to a lot of people about it, but I am so thankful to have had the support of other women.

Side note: When I told another friend, a new age-ish type, she totally questioned my use of "drugs" to get pregnant and why I wouldn’t try more "natural" methods. Which I’ll ever forget, and has definitely changed how I feel about her. I didn’t say anything but what I wanted to say was "fuck you, dude."

Fertility is rife with shame, guilt, and "knowing it all"– all things most of us CANNOT stand! Sometimes I think we should stick to saying one of two things: "I am so happy for you" OR "I am so sad for you." That pretty much sums it up, right? Thanks for your thoughtful comment (And the one below, too!)

When I had my first miscarriage, I had no idea it could happen the way it did. We rocked up to the 12 week scan to see nothing on screen. Just a big black empty hole where my baby should have been. I was distraught. I did need the op because my body hadn’t realised the baby was gone so it didn’t do what it should have done. I had no idea that happens. I then had a son before the next loss. That one was a chromosome problem so we had been warned the baby would probably not make it full term. 16 weeks in his heartbeat stoped and I gave birth to him unexpectedly in the bathroom through the most horrendous cramps. He was a baby. I saw him, held him, touched his little tiny hands. He looked perfect and human and how all the baby books say they should look. I was not prepared for that at all. I was in shock for days and had ptsd. My 3rd loss was a twin. We didn’t find out until the first scan that one had no heartbeat. My daughter survived and she’s a lively, happy 5 year old. I’m blessed. I had 3 completely different miscarriages and was not prepared for either of them. If more people shared their story, then maybe, just maybe it might help other women feel less alone if it does happen to them. Thank you for sharing. I’m sorry you had to go through this too xx

See, this is exactly why talking about this stuff is important. Most of us have no idea what we could potentially be dealing with. In fact, until I had my miscarriage, I had no idea that mine was so much less involved than many people’s.

Also, your story at 16 weeks is absolutely heartbreaking. No one should ever have to go through that and I am so sorry you did. 🙁

Thank you so much for talking about this often "taboo" subject. I had a miscarriage 30 years ago, my first pregnancy. Such excitement! The first grandchild. All my friends where preggers. And then I wasn’t pregnant anymore, after getting all the way through 12 weeks and hearing the heartbeat for the first time…then nothing. There was no internet to find out that what I was feeling afterwards was normal. Everywhere I looked….another pregnant person. And my father, who by the way was a Obstetrician, didn’t have all that many words of wisdom for me although he tried, he really tried. There were no books discussing it. No forums where I might find others who had gone through this thing and could tell me that my craziness was OK and normal. No one talked about it, ESPECIALLY not my friends who were all successfully hatching little people. All this to say, TALK about this. Talk loud and long about it. Many women experience it and they all need to know that 1. it wasn’t their fault. 2. what they are feeling is normal 3. No, everyone else in the world is NOT pregnant, although it might look like it. 3. Ignore everyone else’s well intentioned advice (even mine for that matter). It was your miscarriage. You have a right to how you are feeling.

I found your blog through my husband, who you went to high school with 🙂 Thank you so so much for posting this. We just went through the whole miscarriage debacle a few weeks ago. I did have to have a D&C and that was a whole other ball of wax of emotions and just crap. I posted on FB and got some grief for sharing from friends. This is not shared enough and not talked about enough, so thank you for sharing!

I’m so sorry you had to deal with that– it sucks! And I’m even more sorry that your friends made you feel bad about sharing. This would be easier for people to go through if talking about didn’t feel so shameful. Hang in there! xo

I think I found your blog kind of late but still wanted to share my experience..We decided to try but like you weren’t in a hurry. It took 7 months and also like you, I was only semi-excited seeing the pink lines. The doctor told us he had some skepticism at 7 weeks and at 10 weeks there was no heartbeat. He told us my body would "get rid of it" naturally or he offered a pill. I decided to go natural but when I got home, the reality set it. I cried the whole day and called the next day to get the pill because my mentality was to just get it out and move on. I could not believe the pain to rid something so small. The worst part to me was having to go back and tell everyone we lost it because I was much more heartbroken and embarrassed than I ever thought I would be. Today, I am not embarrassed I had a miscarriage. I didn’t know how to feel after because I had no one to talk to. Thank you for sharing.

I am so sorry to hear you are going through this. Hang in there– all your feelings are totally normal. It’s a really emotional experience! Best of luck to you and your hubby. I am sending good juju your way! xoxo

Molly, thank you so much for sharing your experience. I had the exact same (incredibly confusing) emotional reactions every step of the way. We saw the baby’s heartbeat at 6 weeks and 4 days and left for a two week vacation the next day. While away, we had time to plan and de-stress about the many life changes coming our way. Though I told myself not to get too attached in the trimester, we decided to buy just one little outfit for the baby; to me, it was a token of my first feelings of true excitement and anticipation for being a parent. But on my return flight home after another two weeks, I started bleeding. My husband was hopeful but I knew that something was wrong. It was confirmed the next day that the baby had stopped developing at 7 weeks.

My reaction was subdued and rational- this pregnancy was not meant to be, losing the baby before it could grow to experience pain from any chromosomal abnormalities was a blessing, and thank goodness only my family knew. Taking the pill gave me a physical and mental task – I needed to get through the pain to become healthy and hopefully give my husband and myself a chance to move on. Disappointingly, I found out that I need to take the pill again to get rid of some remaining tissue and I am not looking forward to it. But strangely, I feel worse a few days afterwards because my motions are the same as pre-pregnancy, but it is not possible to just return to normal life. My perspective and my expectations for the future are forever altered.

As I mentioned, I had not told my friends about the pregnancy yet, for which I am grateful. Though I know it is ridiculous, I feel so much worse knowing that even just a few other people in my life were also looking forward to welcoming my child into the world; having to disappoint a few less makes me a bit relieved. But thanks to you and so many other brave women who have shared their stories online (and gotten me through this week), I am going to tell each of my friends about the miscarriage in due time. In case they ever have to experience the same loss, I want them to know they have a friend to talk to. Thank you for being brave.

I feel for you big time! It’s so strange how emotional the process is, even if you felt like you were "managing your expectations." (<<< which is impossible!). If you decide to share your story with other, I guarantee you’ll be shocked and amazed at how many people, many of whom you’ve known your whole life, know exactly what you’re going through.

My advice is to be kind to yourself, take some down time, and focus on the positives. It’s hard, but it’s just the beginning of an emotional (and exciting) journey.